Wednesday, 27 July 2016

Perhaps it’s simply because the markets themselves and the fiscal
powerhouses that quietly drive them, could deduce the situation into which Little
Britain had just placed itself and thus adjusted accordingly.

Now the combined UK media that operated such a fervent anti-EU campaign finds
itself in a situation which, in simple terms, means they daren’t explain the ramifications
to its readership. Ditto the Westminster Government, of whatever shade.

Effectively this is what happened on June 23rd 2016.

While there are a lot more subtle flavours to the Brexit Pie, here are
some of the main, basic ingredients listed on the tin. Some flavours were carefully
hidden by ‘Brexiters’ before the vote. Somewhat paradoxically, neither could ‘Remainers’ reveal these
rather toxic elements. It might well also explain why the ‘Remain’ camp ran
such a god awful campaign – they’d no choice.

Ingredients:

1.Over the last half
century or so, Westminster’s policies have effectively taken a powerhouse of a
manufacturing nation where 48% of its output and effectively its folk, were
tied to manufacturing or the production of goods.

2.By 2014 the Office
for National Statistics(ONS) now has only 8% of the population and 12% of
output tied to the manufacturing sector.
This arena has been effectively reduced by 75% under successive Westminster
governments. In quite simplistic terms, the real wealth and lifeblood of the
country has effectively been reduced by a like amount.

3.Now look at the
effect it’s had on historical exchange rates. In 1948, Sterling valued at over
$4. Today, it is around $1.30 and tracking down. Overall, that loss of
manufacturing capacity has tracked our loss of currency value quite nicely.

4.Effectively the UK
now has about one person in 12 in the manufacturing sector. In its bluntest
terms this little Union is asking one person to carry the load of eleven more.
That’s the real fundamental reason for Austerity.

5.Between governmental
economic and fiscal mismanagement at the UK level Westminster is rapidly
leading us to a debt load which the UK is rather rapidly becoming unable to
support.

6.The markets are aware
that the UK effectively just signed away it’s EU rebate and stimulus packages.
Consequently, that’s billion’s a year added to the red ink on that national
ledger, and not over decades.

7.The markets also know
that the UK just resigned from that fabled ‘seat at the top table’ in the
worlds’ most significant trading block. Now Little Britain has no say in the
most significant world around it. We will rely on the goodwill of our
neighbours, goodwill we ourselves have strained to the breaking point.

8.In order to retain
access to the single market, the City of London knows that the British Nations
will need to maintain somewhere close their current contribution level to the
EU.

Method:

Deduct the losses and it’s shaping up to be a rather massive fiscal
hole.

Worldwide finance is aware that these Islands will have to accept EU
directives and EU laws which the EU insists upon, or we will lose or end up with restricted access to that single market.

The United Kingdom voted for immigration control; The EU will not allow
it, Little Britain must accept that, or lose free access to the single market.

Losing access to Europe’s single market is now effectively taking a
basket case economy and flushing.

The EU holds all the aces, its member states the remaining cards, while
the UK has effectively folded, walking away from the table.

Wednesday, 6 July 2016

I remember that day so well. I marched. We all marched. We marched as one, from Glasgow Green to the SECC. It seemed like the whole of Glasgow, the whole of Britain - God, the entire world - was marching. I even managed to get my old dear out marching. We talked to each other. We laughed as we saw the banners - "BLIAR", "WEAPONS OF MASS DECEPTION", and the huge mannequin of George W Bush with the words "FUCKING COWBOY" emblazoned on it. Free from the apathy of the living room, liberated from the matter-of-fact-ness of the radio and the safe, controlled detachment of the television screen, we were, all of us, vindicated by each other. We had all been moved to come together here, and we were all bolstered by one another's passion.

John Swinney spoke, Tommy Sheridan spoke, many others spoke. Tommy Sheridan said that the Glesga Polis couldnae count, which drew a big laugh, as I recall. I certainly laughed. The Police had estimated that there were far less of us than there actually were. It felt like there were millions of us. And, of course, there were - all throughout Britain, London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester... the whole of Britain united as one to screech out the words:

"NOT IN OUR NAME".

It was the biggest political demonstration in British history. And it achieved almost nothing, save for certifying our beliefs, and cementing for all the world to see our absolute repudiation of what was about to happen. Not that that would rejoin the dismembered limbs, or resurrect the corpses littering the streets and farms, of course. But at least it meant something.

Tony Blair was scheduled to appear at the SECC that day, to address the Labour Party conference at the very culmination of our march, the very time our demonstration was to arrive outside. Blair's speech was hastily brought forward at the last minute to ensure that he would be long gone by the time we got there. He showed just how much he truly cared about democracy that day. How much he cared about genuine opposition. How much he cared about saving hundreds of thousands of people from violent death, and a tinderbox region of our planet from the ignition that is turning into an inferno even as I type this, even as you read it.

I don't care what John Chilcot says today. I couldn't care less. This isn't a history book. I don't need sources and I don't need corroboration. I was alive. I saw it. I heard it. I lived through it. I remember the lies and the propaganda, the dross that was plastered all over the newspapers about weapons so fast and so powerful that they could destroy me in three quarters of an hour's time. I remember the dodgy dossier. I remember the death of David Kelly. I remember Alastair Campbell's face, skewed and twisted with self-righteous, meaningless fury. And I remember what Tony Blair did. I don't need anyone to tell me the truth about what I already know.

Tony Blair is a war criminal. If all the judges and jurors throughout the planet declared otherwise, I would still gainsay them, because I was there, I remember, and I know exactly what he is. The fact that this man is allowed his liberty, never mind the obscene wealth and protection - paid for by the public - that he is permitted to enjoy, is a monstrous insult against every single decent, just and beautiful thing in this world. He is a monster, a traitor, a dissembler, a deceiver, and a war criminal.

If you ever chance to read this, Blair, know that you are hated. Know that you are despised, held in the lowest contempt, by many, many more people than you realise. Tens of millions of people died in two global wars to get the United Nations established, so it could help end the monstrous power games that took both our species and our planet to the very brink of extinction, and in the year 2003, you unzipped the fly on your bespoke suit and urinated on every single one of their graves. History will condemn you more than I ever could.

I detest you. I revile you. I hate you. But I don't want you dead; unlike you, I am not a murderer. But if karma ever does catch up with you, and your own precious lifeblood is spilled by someone else, whether it be victim or vengeful assassin, you can rest assured of one thing, Blair.